


You're My Inspiration

by jqueen17



Category: Phandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee Shops, M/M, Writer!Phil, artist!dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:39:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jqueen17/pseuds/jqueen17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite hating his job, Phil Lester couldn't be happier to be working at Takk on a fateful Thursday in January, when he finds one customer that stands out from all the rest. He doesn't get inspiration from things very often, and he doesn't know if this will be any different. But he sure hopes so, for the sake of his writing.<br/>Dan Howell hates studying Law at University. He hates that all he wants to do is paint, but can't seem to find anything beautiful enough to waste his time on. He hates pretty much everything except painting, and even that isn't going the way he wants it to. That is, until he meets one person that might change his outlook on things.<br/>As crazy as that sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're My Inspiration

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first coffee shop AU, so please tell me what you think! It's one of my shorter ones, but I hope you like it:)

Chapter One  
Phil  
For an English major, I had the most mundane job you could imagine.  
My background, I’d like to say, is something to be proud of and noted. Once I had graduated from Bacup and Rawtenstall Grammar School, I had completed a degree in English Language and Linguistics from the University of York and a post graduate in the Department of Theatre, Film and television, and went on to obtain a Master of Arts in Video Post production with Specialization in Visual Effects. Yeah, it sounds fancy. And yeah, I’m proud of it.  
But working full-time at a coffee shop in Manchester? Not what I had in mind when I graduated from college. I was trying to write something worthwhile-I knew I could, I hadn’t gone through all that for nothing-but I just…couldn’t. Every time I sat down to write, the words that appeared on my laptop screen were cheesy and cliche and common. I liked to think of those words as the three C’s that doomed writers.  
So on that cold, rainy Thursday in January, I hadn’t expected anything different to happen. I’d been working at Takk for about four months now, living in an apartment near the cafe, and the most interesting thing that had happened was pouring a new type of coffee for a picky customer. When I’d said mundane, I’d meant it.  
But on that Thursday, we had a new customer. Which may not sound interesting, but again...even the crowds were the same, never-changing and always demanding.  
The bell above the door rang, making me look up from cleaning the counters. A man-well, a boy, really, looking to be a few years younger than me-was looking around, somehow managing to avoid eye contact with everyone while finding a seat at the same time. He walked over to a small cushioned chair in the far back corner, pulling out his phone and not seeming interested in ordering coffee. I decided to walk over and ask anyway, bored out of my mind.  
“Hi, can I get you anything?”  
He took a moment to look up, seeming surprised that I was talking to him. His eyes were warm and brown, but I could see an underlying tension in them, which made me wonder what was bothering him.  
“Oh, um, do you have tea?”  
I nodded, pulling my notepad out of my apron and waiting for him to continue.  
“I...just give me whatever’s warm. It’s freezing out there.”  
I grinned in agreement, hurrying back to the drink station and making him my personal favorite, peppermint tea. It tasted like Christmas, even if it was July.  
He was watching me when I walked back over to him, seeming to be deep in thought. When I handed him his mug, his hand was freezing.  
“Are you okay?” I blurted, causing him to look startled. I chided myself, smiling hurriedly at his confused expression. “Sorry. Your hands are just really cold.”  
He flashed a brief smile back at me, shrugging. “I’m always cold. I don’t know why.”  
I nodded instead of answering, his smile rendering me speechless. It was brief and beautiful, and I wanted to get to know him more just so I could see it again.  
“I’m Phil,” I stuck my hand out, and he shook it, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few pounds.  
“Dan,” He nodded instead of smiling, and my heart fell just a tad as he handed me the money.  
“Well, Dan, call me over if you need anything else, yeah?”  
He nodded, lips twitching but not fully forming a smile.

I made it my goal over the next few days to try and make him smile as many times as I could. It was difficult at first, and he probably thought I was crazy, always tripping over tables and making witty puns about the weather. But five days rolled by faster than time ever had for me at Takk, and by the fifth day, Dan had to TRY and not smile around me.  
“The usual?” I asked that day, and Dan walked right up to the corner, leaning on it and trying to suppress a smile.  
“Actually, surprise me. I feel adventurous today.”  
I winked, and I heard one of his rare laughs burst from his chest behind me. It was amazing how much I had learned about him in just a week, and simply by taking his drink orders, at that. Dan was unhappy-I didn’t know why yet, but I vowed to find out. He liked art-I always caught him admiring the local art that decorated the cafe’s walls, once for an entire hour, just staring at it. That made me laugh, since I hadn’t seen him wear anything other than black except for today, and his shirt was just a slightly lighter shade of gray. And I don’t think I had ever met another person who intrigued me more than he did without even trying.  
“How was your day?” I asked, as I slid a steaming mug of coffee to him. He sniffed it, widened his eyes a little at the sweetness, and took a sip.  
“I hate college.”  
The bitterness in his voice contradicted his nonchalant expression, and he flashed a quick smile at me, gesturing to the coffee. “This is great, by the way. Thank you.”  
I nodded, smiling back, but I was still curious about the tone in his voice. “I didn't know you were in college. What are you majoring in?”  
“Law.”  
He took another sip, thankfully not seeing my surprised expression. He didn’t seem like a lawyer-type of person; I had figured, if anything, he’d be majoring in art. Or something along those lines.  
“And you hate it.” I hadn’t phrased it as a question, but Dan nodded, looking sad. I reached over the counter, about to place a hand over his before thinking better of it, snatching my hand back and turning to mess around with the drink machines.  
“Are you in college?”  
I turned back around after a few moments, and Dan was studying me, the sadness still in his eyes but buried by curiosity. I smiled slightly, shaking my head. “I graduated last year. English major.”  
He nodded, seeming impressed but attempting to hide it. Stirring his drink with his index finger, he looked thoughtful, studying me with furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips.  
“Um...did you want to ask something?” I asked, snapping him out of his trance. He seemed confused at first by my question, and then surprised, which then faded into embarrassment.  
I smiled sympathetically at his flustered appearance, and he ran a hand through his chestnut hair, blushing and stuttering.  
“Oh, uh, yeah actually. You just...you know what, nevermind.”  
I chuckled at his obvious discomfort, leaning forward and giving him a reassuring smile.  
“Go on. It’s okay-I won’t laugh, I promise.”  
He looked up, his brown eyes worried. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”  
“Well what, then?”  
“I’m afraid you’ll say no.”  
I raised my eyebrows, and he looked away, seeming like he was about to run out the door. I wanted to reach over and brush the fringe out of his eyes, but of course I didn’t, settling for waiting patiently until he looked back, smiling when he did.  
“I won’t. I promise. Does that help?”  
I could have been signing myself up for anything, and Dan seemed to realize that, giving me a small half smile with one side of his mouth before taking a deep breath, his next sentence rushed and breathy.  
“Okay, I really like art and I haven’t seen anything in about a month that his inspired me to paint anything worth a damn, and all my pieces have been absolute shit and I don't know why but I want to paint you because I can't imagine how anything that vaguely resembled you could look bad.”  
I grinned, speechless. That was honestly the nicest thing anyone had said about me in a while, and he had obviously meant every word he’d said, because his face was flushed red and he wouldn’t meet my eyes or say anything else.  
“Of course I’ll let you paint me, Dan. I’d be honoured.”  
His eyes snapped up at that, judging my expression warily, as if he thought I was lying. I kept my smile in place, trying to tell him with my eyes that I really did want this, and a slow smile spread across his face a few moments later. It was as sweet and warm as his drink, his eyes sparkling with flecks of amber and gold. I sucked in a breath his absolute beauty, taken aback that anyone could look like that in this dreary cafe, in the middle of the worst weather Manchester had seen in a long time, completely out of place and completely perfect.  
“Great. Can you come to my flat tomorrow at about seven?”  
I nodded, swallowing before I spoke. “That’s when my shift ends. We could leave here together and walk to your apartment?”  
A brief grin flashed across his face before he stood, reaching into his pocket to get some pounds before I waved him off.  
“It’s on me.”  
He shook his head, looking happier than I had ever seen him. “You’re too nice, you know that?”  
I shrugged. “Mainly just to you.”  
I winced after saying that; it was dripping cliche. But it made Dan smile, and as he left, I caught myself staring at the door for a few moments too long. I glanced back down at the counter, cleaning up, and saw a small slip of paper stuck under his mug. I picked it up, wondering how he slipped it under there without me noticing.  
'Thanks for the coffee. And for cheering me up. Not many people can do that. You’re special.'  
His number was scrawled under that, and I couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off of my face for the rest of the night.

Chapter Two  
Of course, the next day, seven o’clock couldn’t roll around fast enough. I caught myself glancing at my phone far too often, stuck in one of those agonizingly childish should-I-text-them-first scenarios, and I honestly wanted to punch myself in the face. He probably wasn’t having a second thought about me, having fun with his friends and living his life and not caring at all about the guy working at the coffee shop on the corner.  
My phone dinged right in the middle of me taking an order, and I had to restrain myself from dropping everything and picking it up. It probably wasn’t even Dan, if I was being real. The customer took her sweet precious time, and I had to hold back a sigh and multiple eye rolls. When she was finally satisfied with her infuriatingly short order, I reached into my jacket and pulled out my phone, smiling when I saw the text.

Why the fuck does anyone study law  
It’s a waste of life  
Life shouldn’t be wasted on this shit  
Give me a reason to live

I actually laughed, watching the next three messages pop up on my screen. I shot off a quick text, and it amazed me that even a simple conversation through text with Dan could make my day better.

You get to paint me later…  
Wow. That worked. Thank you.

My heart was pounding in my chest, flattered that Dan was complimenting me this much. I decided to be bold, which is something I basically never did, and it paid off.

I can’t wait to see you tonight  
Me too. You’d be surprised by how little people  
actually want to hang out with me.  
I couldn’t imagine why. You’re great  
You’re better

I had to pause and take an order, and when I looked back at my phone, I sighed with disappointment.

I have to go to my last few classes now. See you at 7?  
Can’t wait:)

And so the next few hours went by painfully slow, despite the sudden business of the cafe. I thought about Dan the whole time, looking up every time the bells above the door jingled, in hope that he had left class early and had come to hang out until my shift ended. But each and every time, it wasn’t Dan, and when 7 o'clock rolled around, he still hadn't shown up. The girl that was taking the shift over kept glancing up from the counter to look at me questioningly, just sitting there.  
“I’m waiting for someone,” I explained. She smiled, her bright teeth contrasting well with her dark tan.  
“Is it your cute friend that you’ve been talking to?” She asked, her eyes twinkling. I felt a rush of anger go through me, not really knowing why. She was just asking, so I smiled at her, nodding.  
“Ask him if he’s single for me, will you?”  
I nodded, trying to be nice. I really didn’t want to, but I would, just because I was curious as well.  
Did I like Dan?  
The thought distracted me from paying attention to the door, and I had decided that yes, I definitely did, when a voice said behind me, “Are you just going to pretend you don’t know me now?”  
I turned around, laughing and standing up. “Sorry. Got distracted.”  
“By the floor?”  
I gave him a look, and he flashed a smirk before leading the way out, pulling his hood up as we stepped outside. “It’s not very far, but it sure is fucking cold.”  
I agreed, walking beside him in silence for a few blocks. The lights were dim, and I couldn't help but feel a Christmassy vibe in the air despite it being January. Dan was humming a song, and I tried to identify the tune, snapping my fingers when I found it.  
“Uprising by Muse?”  
Dan stopped humming, looking at me with an impressed expression on his face. “You like Muse?”  
“It’s one of my favorite bands.”  
He grinned, and my heart started beating a little faster.  
“Great taste.”  
I definitely thought so.  
“Speaking of taste…” I mumbled, and Dan looked to me questioningly, thankfully not hearing what I’d said to myself. I spoke up, clearing my throat before I did.  
“So the girl that was working the counter when we left…” I let the statement trail off, wondering how Dan would respond.  
“What about her?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows like I did when I was trying to remember something. I looked away, smiling, before turning back and nonchalantly slipping in the question I’d promised her I’d ask.  
“Oh, she was just wondering if you were single. I think she has a little crush on you.”  
Dan looked slightly surprised, but not particularly interested. “Huh. Well, I am single. But I can’t remember who you’re talking about at all. Sorry.”  
I waved him off, struggling not to grin. “No problem. Would you want to date her though, maybe?”  
Studying my face for a few moments more than necessary, Dan eventually settled on giving me a small smile without breaking eye contact. “I have a feeling she wouldn’t be my type.”

“I’m sorry this place is such a mess,” Dan apologized as he let us into his flat. I looked around, amazed by all the color and art that covered every available surface of the room.  
“It’s great.”  
He shook his head, tossing some canvases off of the couch before walking into the kitchen. “Make yourself at home. I have Ribena if you want a drink?”  
I thanked him and sat on the couch, looking at the canvases that covered the coffee table in front of me. There were swirls of yellows and reds and oranges and blues on one, reminding me of the beach. On another there were splashes of purple and green, looking chaotic and angry. And on the one closest to me was a beautiful painting of a house, looking like a photograph. I reached forward, running my finger over it to make sure it was actually a painting.  
“Oh, shit. Sorry about that,” Dan said, handing me a can of Ribena and picking up the paintings, clearing the coffee table. “I just moved in a little while ago, so I haven’t had time to organize. It’s driving me mad, really-I hate messes.”  
“They’re beautiful,” I mumbled, still in awe over the painting of the house. Dan gave me a curious look, seeming uncomfortable.  
“Um, thanks. But no. Most of them are trash.”  
“Don’t throw them out,” I blurted, and Dan raised his eyebrows questioningly. “If you don’t want them I do. They’re amazing. Really.”  
He shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. “Suit yourself. Anyway, um, so if I'm going to paint you I need paint and stuff, so hold on.”  
He stood, walking around the room and picking up various art supplies that were scattered around. I could tell he was rethinking this whole idea, embarrassment obvious in the slight pink of his cheeks, and I thought he was the most adorable human being on the planet right now.  
“Where did you want me to stand? Or sit?”  
He paused in his flurry of activity, looking around. “Hmm…” He walked over to the easel propped up against the wall, setting it up and turning it towards the fireplace. He then set a chair in front of the fireplace, facing the easel, and got a fire going before gesturing for me to sit in the chair. He continued his supply search, muttering a few curses about the mess before dumping an armful of paint tubes and brushes next to the easel, dragging a stool from the bar in the kitchen in front of it. He began squirting paint onto a pallet, and I watched his movements with a detached interest. I’d never seen someone really paint, let alone paint me, and it was oddly entertaining.  
“I thought you were going to paint me like one of your french girls, Jack.”  
Dan facepalmed, shaking his head and laughing before looking up, his eyes sparkling with humour. “I’m not Leo, but I do need you to stop smiling.”  
Of course that made me smile, and Dan sighed comically. “Phil…”  
We couldn’t stop laughing now, and it was a solid five minutes before either of us could breathe normally. Dan stood, holding his stomach from laughing so hard, and clicked around on his phone for a few seconds before Muse filled the room.  
“There. Now stop laughing and be quiet.”  
I did as he said, watching his face as he concentrated. I felt slightly awkward, having someone stare at me for so long, but it made it better that it was Dan. He didn’t smile as he painted, and would stare at me for minutes on end, brow furrowed as he memorized the details and colors of my face. I remained impassive, leaning back in the chair, and tried to stay frozen to make it easier on him. I wasn’t bored, oddly, since Muse was playing and Dan was easy to look at for a long time. Over the span of those few hours, paint started magically appearing on Dan’s face and hands without me seeing how it got there, and I began dozing off more and more.  
“I’m finished,” Dan eventually announced, and I snapped awake, standing up and walking over to him. He stood back, watching my face as I admired his artwork. The painting was mostly monochrome, with random bursts of color, and was honestly one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. My eyes were the exact shade of blue that they were in real life, making me realize that they were pretty. The fire even looked real, as did the random bursts of purple from my shirt. The whole thing was amazing, and I couldn’t stop looking at it. It was so GORGEOUS.  
“Dan…” I eventually breathed, and when he didn't answer, I turned around. He had moved to the couch, soft snores escaping from his slightly parted lips, and I smiled, pulling the blanket that was draped on the back of the couch over him. I wasn’t tired anymore, really, and I searched the room for some paper. I was sure Dan wouldn’t mind me using a few sheets. I sat and wrote for a long time, and when I saw the sun lighting the sky from behind the blinds on the window, I decided to surprise Dan when he woke up with something he really wanted. I owed it to him-not just for the painting, but for giving me inspiration as well.

Chapter 3  
Dan  
I don’t know what part of painting emotionally drained me, but this piece in particular was hard on me. I got to see Phil’s face, at least, and it made my day. He was still staring, open mouthed, at the canvas as I had drifted into unconsciousness, and I had felt him drape a blanket over me a few moments later. It was just a sweet, simple gesture, but it pulled at my heartstrings nonetheless. No one had ever really cared enough to do things like that for me, and the little things were what I loved most about relationships, friendship or otherwise. I should have known Phil would be like that, but I had this rooted cynical outlook on humanity in general, and didn’t believe people could truly be good. But I believed Phil was. He was getting nothing out of this, sitting there for hours on end while I painted him, but he did so without complaining or protesting at all. And then he was nice enough to make sure I was comfortable, even though that should have been what I was doing for him.  
I liked Phil a lot more than I think I should, and it scared me.  
I could never sleep for more than a few hours at a time, so I woke up pretty early, stretching and looking around for Phil. I hoped he had crashed here and not gone home, but I wouldn’t blame him if he had. I was about to get up and look for him when I noticed the room, and how bizarrely different it looked from last night. There were neat stacks of art supplies on the fireplace, and the furniture was all in it’s proper place, which hadn’t happened since I moved in a month ago. I was astounded by how clean my apartment was-I’d been wanting it to be clean since the day I’d moved in, but university pretty much consumed all of my time.  
“Hey sleepyhead. Are you hungry?”  
I turned to look behind me, and Phil was sat at the bar, a small stack of papers beside him. His eyes flitted over me, and I felt self-conscious, my hair probably a mess. I raked a hand through it, groaning when I felt the inevitable curls tangle in my fingers.  
“Well yes, but you’re not cooking.”  
Phil raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “And why is that?”  
“You’re the guest. I should be a better host,” I mumbled as I walked into the kitchen, pulling a carton of eggs and some pancake mix out of the fridge. I could feel Phil stood behind me, and shivered as I felt his breath against my neck, smelling like peppermint and sugar.  
“I don’t mind. I promise.”  
I relented, telling him I was going to take a quick shower. I needed to straighten my hair as well, but I figured that would take too long. The house smelled delicious as I came back into the lounge, and Phil had already plated the food and set them on the now-clean coffee table.  
“Thank you. For all of this.”  
He looked up from staring at my painting as I spoke, giving me a sweet smile and gesturing to the piles of supplies. “I wasn’t sure where you kept everything exactly, but I separated the brushes and paints and blank and used canvases. You can put them wherever you keep them.”  
No one had done anything so nice for me in a long time, and I could feel myself blushing. I distracted myself by eating some of the food he had made, speaking without really looking at him. “Thank you. Seriously. You don’t know how much this means to me.”  
“It was the least I could do.”  
I looked at him incredulously, not believing what I had just heard. “The least you could do? For what?”  
He smiled at my baffled expression, taking a bite of his eggs. “Nothing. Just being nice.”  
I could tell he wasn’t telling me everything, but I didn’t press him further. It was the least I could do. We ate in silence after that, and I insisted on cleaning up after he was finished. When I had finished the dishes and cleaning the counter and stove top, Phil suddenly bolted upright, looking around for his jacket.  
“Crap crap crap, I’m late for work. Will you stop by later, please, since you don’t have classes today?”  
I nodded, laughing at his frantic appearance. “Of course.”  
He flashed a grin at me before he was out the door, practically running to the cafe. I just stood there for a while after the door had shut, eventually deciding to put the art supplies up and tame my hobbit hair. After I had completed those two tasks, I looked around for something else to do to pass the time. I didn’t want to come off as annoying by showing up this early to the cafe, and just as I was about to say screw it and go anyway, my eyes landed on a neat stack of papers folded underneath a vase sat on the bar. I pulled them out, wondering when I had stuck them there, but as soon as I unfolded the stack I knew I hadn’t put them there. The handwriting was a lot more loopy and neat than my crazy scrawl, smaller, too. I guessed that they were Phil’s, and a part of me said I really shouldn’t be snooping in other people’s things. But my curiosity got the best of me in the end, and besides; he had literally left them right there, out in the open, in my flat. They couldn’t be that important.  
I had never been more wrong.

After I had read what Phil wrote, I had never run faster in my life to the cafe. I burst through the door soaking wet, and Phil was in the middle of taking an order, looking up in alarm at my flustered appearance. I jerked my head towards the door, and he nodded, holding up his index finger in a give me one second gesture, to which I nodded and went outside to catch my breath and find somewhere dry to stand under the awning of the diner. Phil followed behind me a few moments later, walking right up to me with a careful expression on his face, only a few inches away from me in order to stay dry as well.  
“I’m assuming you read what I wrote last night.”  
I nodded, sheepish. “I didn’t know if it was private or not, and I realize I probably should have asked but I have this really bad habit about being curious and so I just read it and I’m really sorry-”  
“What did you think?”  
I opened my mouth to reply, but found I had nothing to say to that question. He watched me struggle to collect my thoughts, different emotions flitting over his expressive face at a rate too fast for me to identify all of them.  
“It was beautiful,” I eventually said, and Phil tilted his head to the side, waiting for me to go on. “I didn’t expect you to be such an amazing writer. And I didn’t know I inspired you as much as you inspired me. So thank you.”  
Phil finally smiled, looking as embarrassed as I was. “Thank you, too. You don’t realize the rut I’ve been in with my writing. That was the first thing I’ve written that I was happy with in a long time.”  
I nodded, completely understanding. “That painting was the first thing I’ve painted since the one you liked of the house. So we’re in the same boat, here.”  
He nodded, and we stood there awkwardly for a moment before I finally sighed, leaning in and pressing my lips to his. He looked surprised for just a moment before kissing me back, and when I pulled away, we were both breathless.  
“Where did that come from?”  
I shrugged. “It needed to be done. I like you, Phil. A lot.”  
He beamed at me, looking like sunshine amidst the dreary weather surrounding us. “I like you too, Dan. A lot.”

You're My Inspiration  
By Phil Lester  
When you have writer’s block, it’s the worst form of uselessness. When writing is the one passion you have, the only thing you crave is inspiration, more than food or water or sleep. When you can’t find inspiration in anything at all, that uselessness takes ahold of you by your very core, and causes you to question your entire life's decisions. Was it worth it to go through all those years at university? Was it worth it to move out of your hometown, just to search for that aforementioned inspiration? Was it worth it, to go against every piece of advice your parents and friends and peers and teachers had given to you for your entire life?  
When you find inspiration, the answer is yes. When you have writer’s block, the answer couldn’t be further from it.  
So you live your life one day at a time, struggling to see meaning in anything. And when you do see meaning in things, thousands of others do as well, and the inspiration dies with the originality. Who wants to write something that has already been written? Who wants their ideas to become overused cliches? The answer is obvious, and so you sit there, pen in hand, with no words to write. And it’s awful.  
And then something happens in your life to change that; maybe a death or birth or drastic change. Or maybe it’s just one person that is so different from anyone else you have ever met, and that inspires you. It could be that simple; knowing someone for a week, and realizing they have given you something no one else has in a long time. It’s simple, and it’s beautiful.  
Especially when the person has no idea. When the person just goes on with their life, unaware that they’ve done anything to change yours. They just be themselves, and while they’re doing that, you’re admiring them, admiring their complicatedly simple demeanor. You want to know everything about them and feel like you already do, and so you write. You write about that feeling you get when they text you or say your name or just smile. You write because you realize you’re the only one who can make them smile, and it gives you a sense of purpose. You write because they mean something to you, even if they have no idea.  
And if they ever do find out, will it change things? Maybe. Probably. But if they knew and they didn’t care, you could write about that. About the broken heart you undoubtedly have. About the way things might have gone if you had hidden your thoughts a little better. About how they have a life and you will never be a part of it, never know the deeper things about them.  
But if they knew and felt the same, you could also write about that. About how you inspired them just as much as they inspired you. About how their eyes change when they see you, from cold and sad to alive and on fire. About how you appreciate them more than they would ever believe, despite you trying to tell them time and time again.  
Either way, that person that inspires you will change your writing. And if things don’t work out between you, you always have that to thank them for.  
It’s a win-win situation. Neither of you are useless.  
And both of you live on through the writing that has been inspired.


End file.
